


Regression

by xerxesun



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Everyone is Dead, F/M, Heavy Angst, Married Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Past Astoria Greengrass/Draco Malfoy, astoria is dead btw, hermione and draco are exes, i can't think of anymore tags lol, just kidding, like i'm telling you i cried writing it, really sad, rose and scorpius are kinda an item
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 20:55:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29657181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xerxesun/pseuds/xerxesun
Summary: Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger were never to meet again.They were never to feel anything for each other again...Then why after twenty-some years all it took was one glance to have everything—memories, feelings and emotions—come flooding back, leaving destruction on its way?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**1**   
_**Draco Lucius Malfoy** _

_"I should've built a home with a fountain for us. The moment that she told me that she was in love too young—I was too young."_  
—Alec Benjamin, Water Fountain

———

Draco Lucius Malfoy. What a name!

Some believed it came with hatred, death and destruction. Some believed it was fame, money and honour. Some thought it was prejudice and darkness.

He used to believe it was everything he ever wanted, as well as the looks, the name came with luck, charm and power.

She thought it was him, heated kisses and...

 _Love_.

She didn't think that anymore. Nor did he. He now knew what Malfoy's name was; it was loneliness.

Utter, thick, loneliness.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head on the fancy couch in their living room, which his wife—his now-dead wife—had chosen for their broken family when she thought he had the chance to live again. 

How could he? How could he inhale a breath and not be reminded of his heavy chest? How could he look into Astoria's brown eyes and not wonder who it would feel like if it was _her_ instead? How could he look at the fancy couch and not wonder what would _she_ buy if they ever had the opportunity?

"Dad?" young Scorpius Malfoy, his son—his blood and flesh—called out to him and Draco opened his weary eyes. He could feel a pulse in his temples—blood flowing around his body as if he didn't feel the pain, as if he was perfectly fine. He wasn't.

"Yeah, mate?" he softly said as he looked at the fifteen-year-old in front of him, worry and burden of a world in his grey eyes as the older man tried to smile. He had no right to make his son worry about him. "Are you okay?"

"Perfect," Scorpius choked the words and his face flushed. A sign that he was lying but Draco was too crushed to push him more. So he threw him another half-hearted smile. Scorpius knew something was wrong—"he has your intelligence," Narcissa Malfoy used to say—but he was too polite to ask it. Draco was too lost to tell him himself. So they both let it go. "I am going to my room, to... um... you know, sleep. Is that ok?"

"Yeah, sure," He still had that week smile on. "Go ahead. I, myself, will go to sleep soon enough. Good night." he patted Scorpius on the shoulder and squeezed it a bit. The young boy nodded and headed to his bedroom.

Draco grinned, Scorpius wasn't going to just sleep. He was absolutely sure that his young son was just going to talk to the young Granger girl for a while before letting himself rest. _Granger-Weasley_ , he reminded himself.

The man stood up and walked to the small bar he had in the corner of his living room. A shot of fire-whiskey was very much needed. Or several shots. He could simply use _Accio_ but he was so used to making his own drinks.

Sipping from his very much liked drink made him break down. No! Seeing Granger today _(Granger-Weasley_ , he reminded himself again) made him break down. He always knew she would be the death of him.

The drink burned his throat, stomach and honest to Salazar, it made his heart burn. Or maybe it was the pain's effect—the pain that memories brought back—and drink was merely an amplifier.

That morning, when he woke up, he had no idea he was to face Hermione Granger—now the minister of magic—again. In fact, after the adventure they had to share for the sake of their children, he had promised himself to stay away from her for the rest of his life because, even though he had mastered hiding his feelings, being near her made him lose his mind. Being near her and her husband made him _murderous_.

And then McGonagall sent him an owl, saying,

_"Mister Malfoy,_

_I am writing to you, to inform you that your immediate presence at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is needed, in regards to your son Scorpius Malfoy._

_Please use the floo powder and get yourself to my office as soon as possible._

_Yours truly,_

_Headmaster  
Minerva McGonagall."_

Draco had gotten ready all in a hurry, his heart racing. _What has Scorpius possibly done?_ He appeared in her office (from the one of his own) just to see Hermione Granger on the other side of the room, all so shiny and glittery as if she wasn't on the edge of forty—all charming and sexy.

He had promised himself not to see her again.

Not to _think_ of her even.

But how could he resist when she was there standing in front of her, yet again so beautiful. So breathtaking. He nodded a greeting, "Minister." What else was he supposed to say? Her surname, Weasley? He couldn't do that.

He finally got himself to look away from her, to focus somewhere else, "Headmistress," he said with gratitude. This woman always made him wonder if she was human. All powerful and rational. All motherly.

"Draco," Hermione said with a flash of a polite smile on her face. As if it was forced... as if he didn't deserve it. To be honest, he didn't. Minerva McGonagall's voice was the only thing that forced Draco to look away, or else he would stare at her for the rest of his life.

"Well, thank you both for coming," she started calmly, "the reason I have requested an urgent meeting is in relation to the fact that your children made a huge mess out in the Great Hall. Young Scorpius jumped on the poor Nott boy and I can assure you that he needed a couple of stitches and a great load of healing spells to recover."

Draco raised an eyebrow. Scorpius wasn't a fighter (he would give anything away for him to be able to throw a punch) and now there was a fist fight? Moreover, Scorpius had won? There must have been an explanation. He couldn't help but grin at the mere thought of his boy fighting. It was more of a Potter-thing.

"That is unfortunate, really," Hermione cleared her throat, "but I don't see how this is related to Rose."

Draco didn't dare throw a glance her way, it was too dangerous, but the fact that she was there because of the same fight didn't even cross his mind.

"Well, minister, I'm afraid your daughter was the reason this fight started in the first place," she coughed as if she couldn't imagine her best-student's daughter would cause a fight, "and at last, she did most the collateral damage."

 _Shite_ , Draco thought with amusement, _the girl fought the battle? I knew Scorpius couldn't throw a damn punch._ Hermione flinched next to him, "Nott must've said something to provoke her," she reasoned with the old woman but her tune was revealing that she found it as unsettling as the Headmistress did. His father was the same git, Nott, and Draco knew it. So, perhaps, she was right.

"There was a reason, indeed," McGonagall said dryly, "but the reason doesn't justify the things your children did. Nott called Rose an offensive word of blood-prejudice or something between those lines," Headmistress blushed and Draco immediately knew what she was called. He could in fact imagine Nott-junior saying it. _You are a mudblood, just like your mother! Doesn't matter if you have a blood traitor's blood in your system!_ It was Draco's trick in fact. "And Mister Malfoy threw the first punch," she concluded.

Hermione sucked in a breath and Draco no longer could resist it, he looked at her and damn, her face was flushed red (showing that she probably knew what Nott had told Rose, too) and she looked... mesmerizing. "I will talk to her, ma'am," she finally said, "and make sure it doesn't happen anymore."

"Me, too," Draco said, still feeling unable to take his eyes off the beauty in front of him. And then McGonagall nodded and let them go. But he was pretty sure his heart was still there, in that office where they had been together just years ago, where the first blossoms of love grew—their second year.

Now that he was sitting on his comfortable chair, in his lonely mansion, he still reviewed her face, her tune over and over again. Their story was like a rhythm in his mind which he would never forget. It was like beauty in its fullest strength, pain in its mildest degree.

He knew she would be the death of him the moment he laid eyes on her. Eleven-years-old and still he could feel the strong feeling of pulling between them. He seeked beauty in her messy curls, in her sweet smile, in her... Good Lord, everything. And he _hated_ her for it.

Back in third year, when he first kissed her, he turned all that hate into love; epic, poetic, burning love.

He still could close his eyes and picture her full pink lips on his, their lips moving in sync in an innocent kiss. No tongue or burning urge but love and deep affection. He could close his eyes and see her brown curls when the dawn sunray highlighted them.

Years later, when he stood before God to be bound by marriage to Astoria, he had closed his eyes and seen Hermione Granger walking towards him. Maybe, that was why he never kissed Astoria with closed eyes. However much the lust was, fear was more. He was afraid he would picture Hermione instead of the woman who was his wife.

He loved Astoria, how could he not? She was the mother of his son... _their_ son. But what he felt for Granger... it was always there. Astoria knew it. She knew it and loved him despite it. She knew it and she thought she could make him fall in love with her. Yes, Draco loved her but he wasn't _in love_ with Astoria Greengrass. And she knew it.

He remembered the last moments with Astoria, when death was tightening its grip on her, she looked at him with teary eyes (how much he hated himself that moment) and told him, "Draco, I don't blame you for not loving me the way I wanted you to. What I feel is enough for both of us." And then life had taken away one more precious thing from him. Astoria Malfoy died.

She died knowing that her husband didn't love her enough and it was killing Draco.

He remembered staying up the whole night crying.

And now, Hermione Granger, all golden and lovable, had a husband, two children and a happy life.

He closed his eyes and leaned into the soft back of the sofa. Memories filled his mind as soon as his body relaxed and he relived the happiest days of his life.

When he took Hermione to the Yule ball, one hand tight around her back and the other laced with her hand. He was aware of his fingertips on her body and he would give away all he had just to be alone with her at that moment so he could take off that dress of hers.

She looked all shiny and hot with that gorgeous blue dress, making Draco go mad with lust. He remembered Weasley being dead jealous and damn, who wasn't? He was the luckiest boy alive.

He still recalled that one time at Hogsmeade when he forced her to secretly try fire-whiskey and when she got drunk afterwards. How she kissed him in front of their whole class that day. Alcohol was really a good thing for her, Draco always thought. It made her cheeks red and her eyes golden. It made her alive—more alive, actually.

She always was the most alive thing ever, as if she radiated life and happiness and love. She was... Hermione Jean Granger. The mudblood who stole his heart.

He yearned for the nights they spent in the room of requirement, his mouth on hers, his hands slipping under her garments. Hearing her soft humming when they laid down between the sheets, oh, how he missed her body against his. Even after twenty-some years, the memory was still the most fresh thing in his mind. The nights when she sneaked out, when she cheered for him in Quidditch matches... when their hands were tangled like the love-sick teenagers they were.

He longed for her... he had longed for her every second of his miserable life since he broke it off. Yes, Draco Lucius Malfoy broke up with Hermione Granger. Being a Death-Eater and wanting a relationship with the Chosen One's best friend wasn't the easiest job to do. Nor was protecting her. She was in danger and if she was with him, she would be considered a corpse.

He broke it off.

Opening his eyes, Draco Malfoy snapped back to reality. He found himself in the huge, empty mansion where the clock was ticking, where the mirror revealed that he no longer was a teenager. He was a widowed man, with a son and a still-warm love—dead, though—in his heart.

He looked at the clock above his head. It was almost midnight. How hadn't he realized the cruel passing of time?

He doubted if anyone was awake at this time and a memory struck his mind. He heard the young Hermione saying, "Do you know why we get insomnia some nights?" she had asked this when her head was on his bare chest, moving with every breath he took. When they just had the sweetest night ever.

"Because we have so much caffeine?" he grinned, "or maybe somebody has put a spell on you?"

She had shook her head and then raised on one elbow, her caramel eyes looking into silver ones of his, "No," she muttered. "It is because someone is thinking of you." Draco had raised an eyebrow and they both burst into laughter.

"Don't think of me late in the nights," Hermione had warned him. "I like to have a good-night sleep." she mocked him and Draco put his arms around her naked body even more, feeling her warm skin.

"I can never stop thinking about you, Granger," he had muttered, "late night or not, you are always stuck in my mind."

That night, they had laughed it off but he knew it was true. She was there and she would never leave. Not until his breath was no longer, when the death had taken him away.

She was always up there.

Draco Lucius Malfoy stood up, no longer a teenager, and walked to the staircase to find his way to his bedroom. He, seeing his little boy asleep on his desk from behind the half-closed door, stopped and slowly walked in.

His son, Scorpius Malfoy, had a muggle phone in his hands—talking to Granger-girl for sure—and he seemed like he was at peace. _That makes one of us,_ Draco thought. He slowly tried to move the young man to his bed, trying not to wake him up. He growled under his breath.

As soon as Scorp was settled, Draco sat on the edge of his bed, his fingertips slowly tracing the hairline of the young Slytherin where blond gave away to the pale skin. _His_ pale skin.

"I am glad that you are not like me," He muttered to the sleeping boy. "You deserve some good friends, mate. You deserve her." He felt tears pooling in his eyes and he took a deep breath. Malfoys didn't cry. Draco Malfoy wouldn't cry. He wasn't allowed to. "I didn't."

Scorpius flinched and his eyes slowly opened. "Dad?" he said in a sleepy tune.

"It is me, lad." Draco patted his on the shoulder and said, "You fell asleep, I just... wanted to take you to your bed. I think I'm going to go to sleep myself."

He stood up, feeling embarrassed and headed to the door but his son's voice stopped him, "Dad?"

"Yeah?" he muttered as he turned to look at him.

"Do you still have anything against Weasleys and Potters?" he asked, "Or... Rose?" he sounded nervous. "Because I don't want to..."

"You should get the girl," Draco smiled sadly. "I support you, fully and completely. Do what you need to do." he could see a ghost of a smile passing his lips. "Sleep well, bud." He smiled again and walked away before his expression could reveal anything.

He wished somebody had said this to him once.

He wished he had gotten the girl.

He laid on his bed, head pressed to pillow, silver gaze fixed on the ceiling. Still reliving the past and promising himself that he will stay away from Hermione Weasley all over again. A promise he knew he couldn't keep.

But gosh, her eyes. Salazar's grave, he could get lost in them forever. For all the eternity.

Because she was light. She was all the colors... at their brightest. 

Draco closed his eyes as he laid on his bed, a woman's empty spot heaving on his shoulder. He remembered that time when he finally had the courage to say it, _It's exceptionally lonely, being Draco Malfoy._

He slept... he tried to. And he longed for her, he yearned for her, he missed her, because she was everything he wanted.

But above all,

She was _his._


	2. Chapter 2

**2**

_**Hermione Jean Granger-Weasley** _

_"I fell in, I'm falling, I'm for you. I can't let you fall through the floor too. It's a gamble to take any more of you."  
_ —ZAYN, Better __  


———

Hermione Jean Granger. What a name!

War heroine, the minister for magic, a successful wife, the mother of two children. She was the definition of success. What nobody knew was that she spent hours wondering where in her life she had gone wrong.

Now that she was sitting on the couch, her husband's arm wrapped around her, pondering the same thing.

What had she done wrong?

She should've been utterly happy. She had achieved everything her eleven-old-self had aimed for, stability, family, power and social-acceptability. But seeing the boy she used to love as a man today... it made her doubt all the decisions she had ever made. It made her wonder for a second what would have happened if she had come back for him? If they were still together...

"What is in your mind, baby?" Ron muttered into her hair, softly kissing her forehead. Hermione could feel his breath brushing against her hair, touching the bear skin of her ears and she should've felt safe. All she felt, though, was the urge to pull away. But she didn't.

"Nothing," she, instead, said slowly getting away from her husband's grip as she tried to look him in the eyes. How could she? How could she look him in his pure blue eyes when all she could do was picture another man in place of his kind soul? How could she when she knew she still—after twenty years—had feelings for the one man her husband despised. "It is just Rose... she is such a troublemaker."

"Well," Ron grinned... how innocent he looked when he did that and how guilty Hermione was for wanting to see another grin every time. "She has it in her blood. She is a Granger-Weasley after all."

Hermione nodded with a weak smile on her face. She used to like the small talks they had, the closeness she felt between the wife and husband they were, but now... it seemed like a tourment to act like everything was fine. It wasn't.

Seeing Draco again—yet after promising she was never to face him again—made her suffer with sweet pain. 

The first love never dies, they say, but they forget to mention sometimes it gets stronger day by day... Sometimes it makes you want to throw away everything you have for the sake of having another moment with our very first love.

With Draco Lucius Malfoy.

With Draco who had lost his wife. With Draco who had a son. With Draco whose son was her daughter's boyfriend.

Hermione leaned on the couch again. This time, moving further from Ron so he couldn't take her in his arms like she hadn't seen her ex-boyfriend today. Like she wasn't all lost in lust.

She got lost in lust the moment she laid eyes on him. The lust had been with her for almost thirty years now and that morning, when she saw Draco once more, the lust was just amplified. 

When his silver eyes looked into brown ones of hers, she felt her heart skip a beat or two. She felt her heart want to clench onto something so it wouldn't fall once again. Like it did when they had stood in the same office years ago, when the first blossoms of love were born. An epic, poetic love.

"You seem distracted, Mione," Ron said as he reached for her hand but she pulled away, getting lost in one of teenage-hood memories. That one time when she got drunk with Draco. When she finally had the courage to kiss him on the mouth just for the fun of it in front of everyone she knew. Because it was Draco. And with him, it was hard not to be yourself.

"I am," she admitted, "The ministry had got me all worked-out and now, Rose isn't helping much. Neither is my husband." Hermione didn't mean to make it bitter. She didn't mean to put it all on him—because it _wasn't_ his fault. It was _hers_. But she couldn't help but be angry.

"Okay, what do you mean?" Ron sat straight, making a I-don't-understand face and it pissed Hermione off.

"What do I mean?" Hermione spat the words at him, "I didn't want to actually say it but you can't just help yourself, Ronald, can you?" she stood up, ready to leave the living room, pretty sure the children were listening by now, but why on earth didn't she care? "Let's hear it, then. Between me and you, the one actually doing a job, is me. The one who has the better place is me and what do you do? Hide in your joke shop? And I am the one who is supposed to cancel a meeting with the council of Wizengamot to go check on _your_ daughter?"

"She is _yours_ as well." Ron protested, trying to keep his cool. "Just calm the hell down, Hermione. Let's not make a big deal out of it."

"Of course you say that," Hermione shrugged, "you always do, Ronald."

"What do you mean?" He narrowed his eyes at the brunette in front of him and she lost it completely... seeing his blue eyes stormy, knowing it was because of her... it made her mad. And what better option that to lash out? To let out her guilt in the form of anger?

"I mean, if it was anyone else rather than you, Ronald Weasley, he would've understood by now. If it was Draco freaking Malfoy, he would've understood ages ago!" Hermione felt the tears pushing their way out and she could see Ron ready to explode, his ears the same color as his hair.

"So this is what it is about, huh?" Ron stood up, "Draco Malfoy? Seeing him made you regret all your decisions once again? I thought you were past that. I thought we were a family!"

"We are!" Hermione shouted at the top of her lungs, wondering how they got here? All angry and messed up... all caught up in the past.

"Then why don't I get that feeling?"

"Because, you are mental, Ron," Hermione found herself sobbing, tired of how long the day had gotten. "Because you are bloody blind and you want to make everything about yourself." Hermione took a step towards the staircase leading to their room, "Because, you are _you_ and _you_ make me wonder if I have made the right decision or not."

Hermione stormed into her bedroom, pretty sure she had said the wrong thing. Minutes later, she heard the main door slammed shut as an angry ginger left the house and her behind. Somehow, it made her feel better. Getting away from Ron was good at the moment.

She threw herself on the bed and closed her eyes. Her mind flew to the time in second year when Draco stood in front of Dumbledore, in the same room they had stood in today, and so did Hermione.

"I've heard some unfortunate news, Mister Malfoy," Dumbledore had said to the pale twelve-year-old in front of him and Draco had rolled his eyes. How much she wanted to scratch those eyes out with her nails. A year later, all she wanted to do was kiss them endlessly.

"I can't imagine what this is," Draco said carefreely, avoiding eye-contact with the old headmaster and the girl whom he had called mudblood. Hermione had shivered with hatred back then. A year later, she had shivered again but this time with ecstasy as his hands touched hers in the most gentle way imaginable.

"Calling a muggle-born, a very smart muggle-born, the m-word by one of our most intelligent students is indeed an unfortunate thing to hear, don't you think?"

Hagrid had told him. Of course he had after Hermione sobbed the words while she felt her heart broken for the thousandth time in his flat.

"Mudblood, you mean?" Draco had thrown a dangerous glance at Hermione. "Why wouldn't I call her by the name she deserves?"

Hermione wanted to scream, she wanted to shout, "I HATE YOU DRACO BLOODY MALFOY!" but instead she flinched, keeping a straight face. She wasn't willing to show him how much pain he had caused her.

"You need to learn that this is unacceptable behaviour indeed," Dumbledore had said, "I am pretty sure a few detentions with the supervision of Miss Granger would help you have a clearer image of what people deserve or not."

"For how long?" Draco had choked the words with disgust and scornfully.

"For how long it is necessary," the Headmaster had said. "Do you want a lemon sherbet?"

Hermione, now in the edge of forty, recalled all the detentions she had supervised, all the jokes they had shared through years... how they had been friends by the end of their second-year. How they had grown to be more in the following years. How they had shared innocent kisses as thirteen-year-olds and how it turned into heated ones three years later. Just before Draco decided to shut her out. Just before her sweet fairy-tale turned into a nightmare. Just before he gave her all he had and took it away.

She remembered lying at the top of him, being in-love was good for her, he looked at her like he had never seen anything more beautiful. She remembered the feelings he made her feel, how her stomach flipped, how her lips curved for his.

"I can never stop thinking about you," he had said and how innocently she had believed. How naïve she was... but was that all lies? She still wondered about it sometimes. She still wondered how good of a liar somebody should be to praise her so truthfully.

She remembered how he had looked at her when Ron touched her hand in the battle of Hogwarts protectively... She remembered that was when he took the first step towards the Dark Lord and she still wondered if that was the moment she should've ran to him and never let him go. She wondered if it was all he needed to keep her close and cherish her forever.

She would never know because she hadn't run to him, he hadn't turned to throw a glance towards her and what they had was gone.

A knock on the door distracted her, pulling her out of the thick world of memories, "Mum?" it was Rose, her little girl who was making the same move as her mother had done. Apparently, Granger girls were attracted to Malfoy boys.

"Yes, honey?" She stood up and walked to her girl, who was growing so fast she hadn't realized she was actually fifteen-year-old.

"Where did Dad go?" she asked. "I mean, the fight was pretty bad so I came to check on you..."

"I'm fine, baby," Hermione kissed her forehead and hugged her so tight, "It is normal to have fights every now and then. Don't worry, Dad will be home in a while."

"Scorpius says his parents never fought." Rose grinned. "I always tell him how big of a liar he is." So, this is how happy they were. Before Astoria died and left Draco a sad widow.

"Well, families are different, honey." Hermione smiled. "Maybe they didn't fight but we do and it is going to be fine."

Rose nodded and Hermione put her hand behind her back, leading her to her bedroom, "Now, you need to sleep. I will drop you in Hogwarts tomorrow. This time, though, no fighting, okay?"

"It was Nott's fault!" the little girl protested.

"Promise me."

"I promise," Rose growled and Hermione giggled as she placed her daughter on her bed, "Night, baby."

She nodded and she put out the lights. "Mum?" she said right before Hermione leaves her room.

"Yeah?"

"Do you think Scorpius is a good boy?" Rose seemed nervous and Hermione smiled. Oh, how sweetly young she seemed.

"Do _you_ think he is?" Hermione asked her daughter. _If he is half as nice as his father, he indeed is a charming young man._

"I think he is."

"Then, he is a nice boy..." Hermione smiled, "Though, don't put all of your trust in him, so fast"

"I can take care of myself, mum." Rose grinned. "Good night."

Hermione left the young girl's room and walked to the living room, sitting on one of the couches, waiting for her husband to come home as she tried to put the memories at rest.

To put the broken fragments of her mind at ease... to put away the best times of her life and snap back to the reality her life was. To live this life she had.

But why did she miss him?

Because he was all the darkness she was allured to. Because she was all the mystery and love one craved. Because he was the only one who seemed to think her light was attractive.

The door moved and Ron appeared in the door framed moments later. Hermione stood up and walked to him, "Ron."

"Woah, it is late. Why are you awake?" he asked, looking tired. She didn't know what to say. So, she said what she thought he would want to hear even though it was nothing but a lie. Like this happiness she had the illusion of.

"I was waiting for you." she said. "To say I am sorry. Because, Ron, I really-" she was caught off when Ron placed his hand on her back, pulling her in as his lips touched hers in an affectionate kiss. He kissed her like she was the only thing that mattered in the world and she fought herself with all she had so she wouldn't pull away.

He kissed her like she was all he ever wanted and she kissed him like he was the only thing she didn't.

He didn't realize it.

"I am sorry, too." Ron said as he looked into her eyes. And all Hermione could think of was a pair of grey eyes that had stared into hers with such surprise this morning.

"It's ok." she said as she let Ron lead her into their bedroom. Though, all she could think of were those silver eyes even when another man's hand was touching her, even if she was staring into another's eyes.

Because, sweet lord, he was all the colors, at their weakest... and she was the painter who knew where to use them. He was all the attractions in the world... he was the hunter and she was the prey who couldn't leave his trap.

And she longed for him, she yearned for him, she missed him, because he was everything she wanted.

But above all,

He was _hers_. 


End file.
